BDSM
by Uchiwa Uke
Summary: Broken Down, Sweet Masochist


See that? See him, just over there? Beautiful, isn't he? But you only see what happens in the light, during common daylight hours… You don't know what other things happen; the things he does; where all these twisted scars came from that score my body.

Ah, here he comes, right as the sun is setting. "Ready for tonight?" he asks, a smirk lining his features. I nod, as I am always ready for that… always waiting for a new scar to add to my collection. "Then, come on. Shift's done."

"Yeah," I breathe, and I follow quickly, being his ever present shadow.

It takes an agonizing twelve minutes and an entire forty-nine seconds to finally see the grey doors of our private home. Lord knows how many times we'd gotten thrown out of apartments for noise. The moment that car door unlocks, we're both practically racing for the doors, the hall, the stairs, the bedroom. Our bedroom, not some overreacting landlord's.

Once in our tainted chambers, together, I hear the door hinges creak and a gentle thud. Click. There it is, my favorite sound. Slowly, it slides quietly, click. And once again, the blade is flicked open. "Hurry up," I hear him mutter. Or maybe it is I who say this; most likely him.

Without even time to change into an old shirt, or at least remove my work clothes, like he usually lets me, we're both on the bed, him straddling my hips, a clean blade at the ready. For some odd reason, but good reason, this night is more frantic. He is definitely more ravenous than usual. And then I feel it, a very light start to a very deep night. The sting is low, hardly a paper cut, and I want it deeper; I love the burn. Looking down waveringly, I stare hungrily at the small crimson droplet forming on my arm. More, I want there to be more of it. He knows this, as well.

"Show it to me." I know what he means. Trying not to focus on that tiny, unremarkable scratch on my forearm, I begin to unbutton this annoying white shirt. It wouldn't do to have this on during our sessions. He tears it from my torso, once I get half way undone. "Heh..." His eyes gleam dangerously, as he hooks a finger around my collar. It's permanently there, unless I cut it, and I would never do that. This black strip of soft leather marks me. Each red stitch marks me as his.

"Do it! …Please?" I almost forget my place… but, no, this collar shows who I am. I cannot try to demand anything of my better half. I can only accept gratefully the gifts he gives.

"Yes, of course," he growls lowly, coming close and almost kissing me, but first brings up the blade, quick as a flash. I wince from the unexpected, yet very much anticipated, pain across my cheek, but it seems to disappear when a hot tongue rolls over the wound, sucking lightly, biting where it hurts the most. When I feel the vibrations of his moans, I am almost tempted to shift my head, just a bit, to taste my own blood mixed with his delectable saliva… but that will come later. I know it will.

He still continues to lick my face like a fox, occasionally nipping lightly, when he resumes with his next cut. I grunt and only tense a little as he cuts much slower than the gash on my face. I can feel the metal hot from being in his hands easily break my weak skin. Muscles touched rage in fire; the white hot, lightless flames run down, as the veins within ice over. Tell me he will go further. This isn't deep enough… this isn't deep enough.

He must be able to read my mind, as he drags the rough and well used metal across my chest, a happy glint in his eyes at seeing my blood. I feel myself wanting to move, wanting to begin already, but… Wait, he's going to start!

I see him coating his right fingers in my blood and his saliva; I see his left hand lowering, and my pants loosening. I only just have to think about this painful bliss I so love to harden up, and when it starts, I am always prepared and waiting. He tugs carelessly, but purposefully, at the zipper on my black pants. He is still sucking mockingly on his fingertips, daring me just to beg once more.

"What is it you want?" I knew it before. He does want me to beg. "Tell me. What do you really want from me?" I hear little of my response, but it does revolve around the words 'cut' and 'in'. "What was that?" Oh, I wasn't clear enough.

"I want you!" I know what he expects. I only wonder why I didn't answer faster.

He smiles in that wicked way of his that makes me forget anything but he exists. He lowers himself to nearly lie atop me, whispering with his knowing grin, "I know. Be prepared." He brings himself in, not a warning before his final words.

I try to hold them in, the first burning screams, but a few escape. They increase when his fourth strike opens my shoulder, and I find him latched to this new injury like a young suckling.

I remember, I try to keep silent, biting my own lip until I think it must be bleeding, and something else captures them. I give free entrance to this skilled master, let his tongue easily overpower mine. I feel my blood pulsing between our bonded mouths, and he takes most of our combined mixture into his own. Before I even realize, he has parted from me, and gone back for more blood. I feel his ragged pants on my neck, and feel stickiness trail from his mouth as some wetness escapes.

"Tell me, how much do you want this?" he asks me, as he pushed deeper, harder. At first, words are hard to find for such a question. "Tell me." Whenever he says 'tell me,' I must answer. So, how much do I want this? Love this? Desire him?

"Indescribable."

"Try. For me." Anything, for him. I will tell him how much I desire his touch, how I live for the comforting pain he gives me, how every second that I am not with him, I wonder what minute I'll see him next. But this, I am soothed by what hurts; I am placated by every unsettling thing that proves he is here. I wouldn't ever cut myself, because no one, not even I, could score my skin like him, so perfectly. And I tell him, my words whispering in time with our beat.

Soon, soon, I will come. I wonder how much longer this body will last. Another strike. I knew before how he was definitely more excited. He's never let me speak for so long, and, for just a short time, we seemed to be equal, despite this collar… but that will not last long, I know.

"That's enough talking," he grunts at my close and lands his bloody mouth to mine once more, our teeth clashing. Oh, the way he hurts, but the reason I love it. He is still plunging deep, and I have not ceased to meet his thrust. His thick erection pounds in and out, and I must be bruised by the force. "Ahhh!" he moans into my kiss.

What a beautiful sound he produces! Ah, I want to make those sounds and please him, but I must hold in those pleasurable scream, passionate moans. He hasn't granted me permission, yet. Will he soon? With this excitement, I think he must want to hear what he makes me feel. He must want to be sure of everything he makes this body feel. "Uhn, please…"

I gasp when I hear this word escape him, and he thinks I've merely obeyed his wishes. Have I heard such a thing? Never has he asked 'please,' from me.

"Let me hear your screams. Yell my name and struggle for this!"

Leaning up with my back muscles, I touch my chest to his, breathing on his sweaty neck. "Ahhh!" I sigh in bliss from this skilled appendage inside me. I am calling his name, whispering and shrieking the same. "Mnn!"

He pants, nearing his own climax. "Soon, soon," I hear him murmuring. I feel blood trickling from my wounds, and he sees this. He sucks again for that metallic drink he loves. I whimper as the sting of his teeth penetrates those cuts, but I love it all the same. I wish I would never run out of blood, that he would burn me forever, and we could stay like this for eternity. "Ahhh!" His own fills me, but still, he has not stopped, or pulled out. That is good. Let this continue for a while longer. I don't want yet to bandage these gashes, as we both love the scent of my blood; I don't want to clean these sheets, as we both love the scent of his love.


End file.
